


The Supply Run

by Happyorogeny



Series: The Drow [6]
Category: Dungeons & Dragons (Roleplaying Game), Forgotten Realms, The Legend of Drizzt Series - R. A. Salvatore
Genre: According to the book Gwen is as intelligent as half the damn party, Drizzt offscreen fighting like 50 orcs, Gen, Gwen helps Drizzt do his taxes, Mapmaking, Supply Runs, they're tax collectors
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2019-04-16
Packaged: 2020-01-15 04:23:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,207
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18491275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Happyorogeny/pseuds/Happyorogeny
Summary: A half-elf merchant has an unexpected guest.





	The Supply Run

"Um. You can go ahead of me."

Something about the customers voice made Varia turn. She was new to this job of merchant in the countryside and still growing used to the clientele. Such as they were. 

The half elf blinked at empty air on the far side of the counter, then at the farmer- Marc? Marcus?- standing a few feet back. He gave her a knowing look- she had received far too many of those, lately- and pointed at the ground. Ah, perhaps it was a gnome or dwarf. This counter really wasn't so accessible for small folk, she thought, leaning forwards. 

Two massive yellow eyes stared up at her, framed by thick black fur that looked as soft as velvet. Rounded ears perked towards her. She had never seen a black panther before, never mind one wearing a leather knapsack on her back like a human. Was this some kind of joke? The locals had played a lot of jokes on her. So many that she was considering moving again, for the fifth time in as many years. 

"Ah. Good morning."

The panther blinked at her as contentedly as a housecat and rose gracefully to stand on her hind legs, resting her paws on the countertop. Varia swallowed and resisted the urge to lean backwards. Those things were as big as her head. But they were surprisingly clean, as if the creature had been brushed all over with a fine comb and she found herself resisting the urge to pet one and see if it felt as soft as it looked. 

The panther twisted to fetch a letter from the outer pocket of her bag and held it neatly between her teeth. She heard a muffled laugh from the far side of the shop and only barely stopped herself scowling in annoyance. Fine and well for him to laugh, when she was trying to provide customer service to a- druid perhaps? A polymorph gone wrong?

The letter was in common, neatly written with extremely small letters, as if the writer was used to a shortage of paper. 

_Dear Sir, Ma’am or those that lie betwixt,_  
Please don’t be alarmed by Guenhwyvar, she is perfectly civil and has an excellent grasp of social niceties and coin exchange. If you would be so kind as to furnish her with the following supplies:  
• 1 week portion smoked fish  
• 2 boxes of healing bandages  
• 1 notebook, preferably waterproof  
• 2 vials ink  
• Latest copy of “Von Neers letters on Morality”, if arrived from Waterdeep.  
Gwen has the required funds in her bag, she’ll fetch the purse if you ask her nicely.  
Yours,  
Drizzt. 

What kind of name was that? The writer seemed to her to be an elf, from the turns of phrase and the curly letters. Maybe a wood elf. A part of her perked up in interest. The last time she had moved had been because of a broken heart, a careless human with a lovely laugh and a shallow soul. Often she thought her heritage had doomed her- she aged too slowly for a human lover and too quickly for an elf. But wood elves lived hectic lives, and didn’t seem to survive as long as their city cousins. Perhaps she would wait around a while longer and see what he looked like. 

Although. Such a strange name. And the writing, though it had the gilding of wild elf style, there was something else there. 

Ever nosy, Marcus peered over the shelves at her. 

“That’d be from the drow?”

A drow. She recoiled inwardly and dropped the letter, lest it be poisoned. Was her hand burning or was it her imagination?

“A drow?!”

“Aye, that’d be Drizzt. Off up in the mountains at the minute, making maps for other runaways from Mez- Mezzo- their city.” Marcus shook his head. “Seems a grim place, the way he talks of it.”

“He makes maps? And you all just let him?” She couldn’t believe this. Were the country folk here so removed that they didn’t know what drow were? He had to be some kind of scout for an invading army, some kind of spy. Even here, so far away from the main underground cities, they had to have heard stories. Had they all lost their minds?

Guenhwyvar flattened her ears and growled. 

Marcus seemed now to understand her worry and winced, nodding in agreement. 

“I was not so keen on the idea myself, at first. But he seems to be some class of exile, wanders about and makes himself useful. Married to that redhead up on the hill. Wouldn’t cross her myself now, but they seem to get along well enough.”

It had married a human? She was nearly an old maid and no one would have her, and some damn drow had managed to scramble to the surface and get married? How was that fair?!

“He must be using some kind of mind-control potion on her.”

Marcus eyed her a long moment. 

“You haven’t met Cattibree, have you?”

Gwen yowled behind her and smacked her paw on the counter, for all the world like an impatient noblewoman, and looked pointedly towards the sundial in the main square. 

“You respect my shop or I’ll throw you out,” she said without thinking. Quite how she was to throw out a fully grown panther she didn’t know, but the gauntlet had been thrown. Gwen sniffed at her delicately and dropped a coin purse on the counter with a deliberate thud, tail twitching restlessly. If she were off in the mountains, Varia thought, then someone was taking the time to groom her every day. There wasn’t a single hair out of place, no burrs caught in the furs on her belly or the back of her neck. 

Drow weren’t known for caring natures, but she couldn’t have reached all of that alone. 

Back in the city she knew an old man who had been enslaved by them for years. He never spoke of it, though his eyes were always haunted and he never went out at night. But he said a young drow had set him and all the other slaves free one night, given them a map and told them to flee. And there were other stories like that. People told to lie still and smeared with blood, so that they survived a raid. A warrior looking right at a child huddled under their bed and calling out, “This room is empty.”

Varia turned to fetch the ink, moving slowly so as to give herself time to think. She had been half-ready to move again, to the next town down the road. A sixth move in as many years meant nothing to her. She had no friends and few possessions, after all. All she had to do was lift up her knapsack and start walking. But clearly these people didn’t know how to look out for themselves if they just let a drow move in. She would just have to stay a while and keep an eye on him, make sure he wasn’t up to anything nefarious. 

And figure out why damn Marcus felt the need to visit her shop every day and hang around to chatter at her. Fool man.

**Author's Note:**

> If you enjoyed this please come find me at HappyOrogeny!


End file.
